Sith, Slave, Assassin, Ally
by MidnightShadow101
Summary: She was born a Sith, sold as a slave, enrolled as an assassin, and eventually becomes an ally. "Ally," She pondered thoughtfully to herself. "Not a friend, not an enemy, but an ally." She stayed silent a little more and finally made her decision. "It's a nice word." Set during the Clone Wars (TV series).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, this was inspired when I was flipping through a Star Wars atlas of my brother's, and I stumbled across Iego. The story about the Diathim and the Maelibi was intriguing, and I thought to myself. "Well, what happens if a normal mortal marries a Diathim?" And then, BAM, ideas.**

**Please review, favorite, follow.**

**3rd POV**

No one seemed to notice the girl in the corner.

It was a Thursday night, but this did nothing to deter the business: two Devish were gambling in the corner, along with a group of Dugs, and there were several other groups and lone figures all sprawled around the room. The room was filled with heated arguments, drunken laughter, and loud conversations.

Despite the ignorance of others, the girl was there, shrouded in a dark cloak with the hood pulled up, casting her face into a pool of darkest shadow. All for the best; her face generally caused a bit of a disturbance.

Even though no one asked, her name was Ryker.

Even though no one saw, she was clutching a Treppus-2* underneath the table, strategically switched off so that the tell-tale hum wouldn't give it away.

Even though no one knew, she was waiting; waiting for her target to finally show his ugly face.

Her legs were undeniably cramped; she had been sitting in this accursed chair for at least half the night already. Her eyes flicked to the digital clock on the bar counter, which told her that it was past midnight. She resisted the urge to yawn; she had to resist anything that could give her identity away, and she knew that even that harmless gesture could reveal her gender. Yes, she knew she was paranoid, but she also knew that sometimes, paranoia could just make the difference in living and dying. Ryker preferred living to dying.

She was beginning to grow impatient- her informational client had insisted immediate results from this place. Instead, she had had to come every night for almost a week already without success. If this night was fruitless as well she would give up on the whole idea and just find a new mission.

The chubby bartender- human- was beginning to cast dark looks into her corner, but that was normal. Fourteen year olds didn't often come into the Lower City of Coruscant just to sit on a chair and survey a room.

Besides, the bartender was also quite familiar about the rumors circulating... rumors about a stranger that was flitting around Coruscant... rumors that she was part of anassassin's guild... signing contracts in the black market for someone's head, and executing her mission flawlessly, seamlessly, and collecting the bounty without a word...

Ryker suddenly rapped her knuckles on the pitted surface of the wooden table, signaling without words that she wanted another drink. The bartender- despite his qualms about serving _children_- obediently ducked from his place behind the counter and grabbed one for her.

As soon as he had scurried away again, Ryker raised the bottle to her lips. Non-alcoholic of course; she was underage and she also wanted all her wits about her if her target actually _showed up._

But all of her annoyed uncertainty vanished when the door was shoved open and an Aqualish trudged in, bringing with him a blast of icy cold air from outside. A murmur of complaint ran through the gathered group, and they all shifted their cloaks in an attempt to get warmer.

_That's him. _Ryker thought in relief, lowering the bottle in her right hand and clutching her knife more firmly in her left. _Oh thank God. I thought I'd have to spend a month here waiting him out._

The Aqualish was big, by human _and_ his own species' standards. A little over two meters tall, but still his giant form was stooped with the obviously strenuous weight of a bulging canvas sack slung over his back.

_And those are his exports. Man, I've hit the jackpot tonight. _Excitement buzzed at the base of Ryker's skull.

"Halfza, you are finally here!" The bartender greeted cheerfully, and with this seemingly harmless remark came a thrill of sudden alarm racing down Ryker's spine.

_Oh, damnit, if the bartender's in cahoots with Halfza, then that's another person I have to deal with that I wasn't counting on._

"I had to be patient; they got close this time." Halfza grunted, disgruntled by the cold weather and the bartender's upbeat, careless disposition. "No help from _you_, sitting on your fat ass all this time while I risk my neck out in the open!"

"Now, let's not get testy." The bartender chuckled affably, seemingly amused by Halfza's obvious irritation. He wagged a pudgy finger in his direction.

_Fool_. Thought Ryker, almost laughing. _Even though he's working with one, he's obviously unaware of the infamous, Aqualish hair-trigger temper._

"I provided help for you in your early days, you should be thanking me." The bartender continued. He dried his hands on a towel and leaned eagerly over the counter, greed shining in his beetle-black eyes. The man looked like dough before it was baked, soft and pudgy and bulging.

Halfza gave a feral growl in reply, but didn't protest, as he dumped the bag's contents out on the bar's surface.

Ryker felt herself straighten and her grip on the Treppus-2 tighten.

And then all hell broke loose.

She was on her feet, hurling the Treppus with deadly accuracy, switching on the vibrations at the last moment so that they couldn't hear the hum.

The bartender was the first to go.

The Treppus found its mark in his temple, burying its point in the fatty flesh, and Ryker heard the loud crack of broken bone that confirmed that he was, indeed, dead. Or dying. Either way, death was inevitable.

The Aqualish turned more quickly than Ryker thought, anger and shock etched into the sharp lines of his green-blue face, pulling out his blaster with a mere flick of his wrist and shooting quite accurately.

Ryker ducked fast, flipping the wooden table she had previously occupied over to provide a bit of cover from the blasterfire, feeling an inexorable and intoxicated grin flit around her lips.

This was why she did it. For the euphoric rush of battle, the adrenaline pumping through her veins like poison. It was like an addiction- she couldn't seem to get away from this despite all of the danger. Maybe the danger was why she did it. After all, there wouldn't be any fun if there was no danger, no risk involved. Putting her neck on the line for the distant promises of glory and reputation... it terrified her half to death and yet she felt a thrill of pleasure.

Halfza paused after he fired the first round, as a predator would, wondering if their prey was still alive.

Ryker proved that she was as she leapt out from beneath the table, cat-like, grabbing his collar for a hold, planting her feet on his chest in a crouched position. She clenched her other hand into a fist and brought it down on the Aqualish's face.

Or more accurately, his tusks.

Despite her somewhat inadequate early education, Ryker was well-acquainted with the anatomy of an Aqualish from pure experience. The tusks beneath his nose, although tough enough to crack open shellfish on his native planet of Ando, also contained a thick layer of nerve cells, which were extremely sensitive.

Even with this knowledge advantage, the punch of a fourteen year old girl is not much to talk about. Unless, of course, said fourteen year old girl was wearing vibroknuckles, which, when clenched, unsheathed a row of deadly vibrating razors, transforming what would have been a painful blow into a lethal attack.

The Aqualish roared in anger and pain, stumbling back as a clear, viridescent liquid oozed from his face and dripped down his chin. He thrashed out blindly, a wounded animal with no space in his brain left for logic, driven only by the primal and basic instinct to attack whatever was in front of it.

Ryker dodged Matrix style, but the sheer wind of the punch was enough to make her hood fall off, throwing the features of her face into the sharp relief of the bright lights. The veil covering half of her face slipped down.

Halfza- who had been pulling back his arm for another blow- suddenly froze, his four glassy black eyes widening in surprise and horror.

"You... you're..."

He never had a chance to finish his sentence. Ryker whipped out another Treppus from the depths of her cloak and threw it, and it struck home, right between Halfza's eyes. The Aqualish twitched one more time and then went still, going limp.

Ryker was extremely aware of how the entire bar had gone silent. The two Devish in the corner were frozen in their gambling. The group of Dugs near the door looked absolutely terrified. The rest were in similar states of being.

The heat coming from their stares was unbearable.

Putting on an air of calm, Ryker pulled her hood and veil back up, inwardly cursing. She didn't want her face to become an object of talk among the mercs of Lower City. And if the other rumors weren't bad enough...

_Might as well say something. The tension is thick as hell._

"Sorry about the mess, boys." She said, casually leaning forward to pry both of her knives from the targets' heads. She switched them off and wiped the blood off on her cloak. "But I got a quota to fill, places to go, and people to see." She surveyed them all from the darkness of her hood. "But since I disposed of the bartender, you might as well help yourself to some drinks."

The rest of the bar realized this. And all dove for the counter, dissolving into a mad scramble for the rest of the bartender's wares. Ryker was, however momentarily, forgotten.

Chuckling to herself, Ryker picked up the Aqualish's bag, stuffed the contents back inside, rummaged for a while in the cloak of Halfza, and then produced a laminated card.

She then left the bar and never looked back.

It wasn't until after all the drinks had been finished that the occupants of the bar that night began to ponder the mysterious stranger that had showed up. The graceful way she moved, as if she had been flying instead of running and jumping.

As if she had wings.

They spread news about the way she had taken down Halfza, almost twice her size, and the bartender without landing a scratch on herself.

But most of all, they spread news of her face.

The face worthy of an angel.

**A/N: Review, favorite, follow.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, thank you to everyone who reviewed! I was both surprised and pleased, and I'm happy that you enjoyed chapter one! I hope that you find this one just as nice.**

**3rd POV**

"Well well well," The man at the desk sounded amused as Ryker entered the dilapidated building, an expression of extreme annoyance on her face. "Look who's here."

"You bastard," Ryker scowled in reply, voice slightly muffled, hood down although her veil was not. Her brown hair was pulled back into a series of complicated braids that stretched down her back. "You knew that Halfza wouldn't show up for half a week and yet you told me otherwise just to make me freeze my ass off in that damned hell-hole they call hospitality."

"Now, now, let's stop swearing. Let's all take our foot off the swear pedal." The man smirked, his one gold eye glinting with laughter. The other eye was a black, empty socket that he didn't bother to hide with a patch, a scarred and blackened pit of ruined flesh. He was unmistakably human, with close-cropped raven-black hair, that stood out like a shadow against his skull. He was wearing a faded, gray button-down uniform buttoned up all the way to his neck. "It was _misinformation _on my part, and I am extremely sorry..."

"Misinformation... sorry... my ass." Sneered Ryker. "Cut the crap, okay, Szeder?"

"Should the lady wish," Szeder replied slyly, voice lilting slightly, betraying his old accent. He leaned over the desk, eyeing her baggage with a hungry look in his eye. His bronze skin shone copper in the dim lighting. "Despite how you protest that my information was... inaccurate... I hope you found it valuable?"

"For the amount of money I paid you, no." Ryker shot back, sitting on the desk. Despite that fact that she glowered at Szeder and her voice was irritated, it was obvious that the two were friends. If they weren't, Ryker knew she probably would've slit his throat by now.

"Mm, I see you didn't bring your trusty sword," Szeder noted. "What, too trivial a matter?"

Ryker shrugged. "I brought it at first, but when Halfza didn't show up, I just brought the Treppuses. There was no point; I could've taken them both out with just the vibroknuckles."

"Them both?"

"Ah, yes. The bartender was an accomplice. Your information did not stretch to him." Here, she gave him a very pointed look. He ignored it.

"No matter. You took them out easily enough, by your appearance."

Ryker did not question him. _So, his Lorrdian senses are coming out again._

"Your posture is languid and careless, and your eyes are relaxed and focused solely on me, despite your frequent, relentless paranoia." His lip curled upwards in a smirk.

"Take your sly remarks to hell." She snapped, but there was little bite to her words. And if there was, he ignored it. "And give me back my sword. I know that you have it under your desk somewhere, for its _protection._"

"You are too clever for me." He brought out a bundle wrapped in cloth from underneath his desk and handed it to her.

The way a small smile tugged on the corner of her mouth, the way her hand curved familiarly towards the handle sticking out from one side... all of it suggested that she had had the blade for a long time. She hefted it fondly in one hand and pulled away the cloth.

The handle was gilded gold and black steel, with some complex metalwork as the handguard that was tempered to look like a curled, twisted snake. It was in a leather and metal sheath, and the blade sang as she pulled it out.

It was a fine sword. Gleaming and wicked sharp, well-balanced and polished. Ryker stepped back and went through a few routines with the ease of a master, ending it with the point at Szeder's throat. He looked unsurprised.

"So you didn't steal and sell it yet." She said casually, replacing the sword in its sheath. Her friend snorted.

"As much as I would ransack your room and probably sell everything of value on the black market, I wouldn't take _that. _First of all, no one would recognize its true value. Second, if a Jedi got ahold of it and traced it back to me-"_  
_

"Yeah, yeah. Your business goes down, blah, blah, blah." Ryker sounded utterly unconcerned as she jumped back up on the desk. She pulled down her facemask. Szeder grinned.

"Ah, now that's the pretty face we all know and love!"

"Shut your mouth. If you continue to say that _every single flippin' time I take off my mask_-"

Suddenly, the door was opened again, and Ryker immediately pulled up the facemask and her hood again.

An imposing figure walked through the door, bringing with him an icy blast of cold air and a few snowflakes. He was shrouded in black, with snow on his shoulders and head. Big, wearing a dark green coat and hat.

"You're Szeder, are you not?" He growled as he approached the desk. His voice was deep, reverberating, unmistakably male. Ryker stood stock-still, not even seeming to breathe. The man ignored her completely; she didn't mind in the slightest.

"I am." Szeder said in a level voice. His one eye surveyed the man without shame, taking in every action, every movement, every bit of his appearance. "And who are you?"

"Icorte. I have a job proposition for you."

"Have you filed the necessary paperwork?"

"Yes, and its been rotting at the bottom of yours." Icorte nodded to the messy pile of papers on Szeder's desk. "I came for more instant answers."

"What is it?" Szeder sounded bored, but Ryker knew better. He was nervous.

Her assassin sense tingled, sending shivers down her spine. She placed a hand casually on her sword handle. Anything enough to worry Szeder worried her. He saw the gesture and shot her a cautionary glance before returning to the conversation.

"I have... a person that I wish to see disposed of." Icorte's lip curled into a small smile. "And I want it done quickly."

"I have a multitude of people up for the job. Could you perhaps be a bit more specific?"

"This person is rather strong and authoritative, so your typical street-rat won't do. I need an elite. A professional."

"That narrows it down very minimally, Mr. Icorte. Just what rank is this person...?"

"His name is Simone Nasrula. A senator."

"A senator? Well, that changes things quite a bit." Szeder's one eye glinted. "The price, for one thing..."

"I can pay."

"I hope you can. Any more requirements for your assassin?"

"You shall find the specifications and notes in here." He slapped a manilla folder on the pitted surface of Szeder's ash wood desk. "Just get it done quickly."

"For a job this big," Szeder purred. "I would recommend a down payment."

Icorte nodded. "I think this should satisfy you." He tossed a small, leather bag on the table. It landed with a loud, tempting, jangle, and Szeder looked through it and cocked his head to the side.

"It does... for now. I do hope you know the price for this job might be... a tad high."

"It doesn't matter. I can pay." And with that, he left, abruptly. The door slammed shut.

As soon as he left, Ryker relaxed (minimally) and shot her friend a questioning look. "What do you think of him?"

"I smell a rat. He's nervous." Szeder idly flipped through the folder.

"How can you tell?"

"His eyes glanced too often to the upper left. He shifted his position too much. His hand strayed towards his belt where a blaster undoubtedly was." He pulled out a sheaf of paper and examined it with a bored disposition, running a thumbnail over the edge.

"Interesting job?" She asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. He shifted it so that it was out of her view.

"Not really; your typical assassination, senatorship aside. Simone Nasrula might be up there, authority wise, but he's an obscure, cold character. No one will be missing him." He frowned slightly, one eye racing across the page with a speed that would be considered skimming. "Well, our friend Icorte didn't help us along. No building blueprints or security measures or anything."

"It would be a simple job to get in without all that." Ryker said dismissively. "All of the senatorship hospitality buildings have the same structure and security systems; I know them by heart."

"Mm. Apparently this is a political murder. Icorte wants it done before the senate meeting not two weeks from now."

"Someone's impatient. What do you think of him anyway?"

"Icorte is obviously not his real name. He would be a fool to give that away." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Or perhaps it is his real name, because that would be so foolish a move that we would not consider it and brush it aside... therefore making "Icorte" a favorable option..." Szeder trailed off, mumbling to himself. Then he straightened and put the paper away, pulling out a different one instead. "No matter. I want you to take the job."

"Me?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"You said it yourself. The senatorship buildings all have the same structure, and you've memorized them by heart."

Still, Ryker hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. The black of her eyes went to stormy gray, as it always did when she was thinking hard on something. "I'm still not sure..."

"Nonsense. I know you'll get the job done, and there's a handsome fee." He pointed to a figure on the piece of paper, raising a single eyebrow at her.

Ryker inhaled sharply. "Isn't he wealthy, our friend Icorte."

"Indeed."

She paused, thinking, hesitating.

_I haven't taken assassination in a few months. I'll be rusty, but... I do need the cash. _She nodded, a mere dip of her chin, but it was a nod.

"I'll take it."

* * *

Szeder quietly walked through the corridor, footsteps soft against the metal flooring. The musty scent of the apartment complex filled his nostrils, making him want to cough, but he suppressed the urge. He knocked gently on one of the many doors. "Ryker?"

No reply. He slid a key card in the slot and pushed it open with a mechanical creaking.

She was sleeping, her cloak hung up on the doorknob. Her room was a mess of papers and random bits of machinery, with a few weapons hanging on the wall. There was very little furniture, just a few chairs and a desk near the left wall. Her bed was shoved up against the right wall, as if sleep wasn't very important.

The sword was at her side though, her grip firm on the black handle. His lip curled upwards briefly as he allowed himself a small smile. _Frequent paranoia indeed. She'll never change._

She had undone her tight braids to allow her skull some respite, so her brown hair cascaded over the pillow, shining slightly in the dim light from the singular lightbulb flickering on the ceiling.

His eye roved over her beautiful face as he approached, to the high cheekbones and pale skin, from the hooded eyes to her pink lips.

_Rai-El looks so peaceful and innocent when she sleeps. _Szeder thought to himself, the realization almost amusing him. _Almost like the child she should be._

Her lips moved, forming words that he could barely hear. If he had not been listening, he would've dismissed the murmurs for a breath of wind.

_"Gallahger, Vahira, Lasver, Orphelia, Cassiopeia, Neri, Alysia, Calvin..."_

The names went on, for almost a full minute. Szeder listened sadly as one more name joined the list.

_"...Halfza."_

**A/N: Well, thank you for reading!**

**Review, favorite, follow.**


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